The Mortality, She Is a Beetch
I didn't think that this part started until, I don't know, age 7 or something. But here we go, apparently 3 1/2 is the age in this case. Several times now, prompted by who knows what train of thought, Cassie has started to cry piteously before bed, face all crumpled up and desolate. When I manage to get out of her what's wrong, it's this (in an incredulous, desperate whine): "when I die, I won't ever be alive again?!"
What does a sweet, gentle, loving, stone-cold atheist mom reply to that? "Buck up, kid, at least you won't burn in hell"?
I've found a bit of success with the assertion (put forth with feigned certainty) that Cassie will not die when she is a child, and she will not die when she is a teenager. She will not die when she is a young grown-up, or a medium grown-up, or even just a sort-of-old grown-up. She will only die when she is a very, very, very old grown-up. (Tvuh! tvuh! tvuh!) Once Cassie asked me, "say that part again?" so I figured I was on the right track.
I have, however, been reduced in the end to pointing out that some people think that we go to Heaven when we die, and some people think that we're born again as new people or animals. We don't really know what happens when we die, since nobody alive has ever been dead before! (This last part even got a little giggle-through-the-tears the last time I used it--must have been the delivery.)
It's so weird, being a parent and having to confront these little controversies and uncertainties and secret personal truths--things that you can very successfully fudge when you're only dealing with adults, because nobody's going to ask. Gender, morality, death. What's the difference between men and women and ladies? Are mosquitoes mean? Why is it not polite to show your underwear when you'r wearing a dress? When is Ennui (the cat) going to die?
Meanwhile, although Cassie is also a a little unhappy about the prospect of my dying, at this point it's also an idea she can approach somewhat philosphically. She tells me, "when you die, I'm going to go and have lots of new adventures."
What does a sweet, gentle, loving, stone-cold atheist mom reply to that? "Buck up, kid, at least you won't burn in hell"?
I've found a bit of success with the assertion (put forth with feigned certainty) that Cassie will not die when she is a child, and she will not die when she is a teenager. She will not die when she is a young grown-up, or a medium grown-up, or even just a sort-of-old grown-up. She will only die when she is a very, very, very old grown-up. (Tvuh! tvuh! tvuh!) Once Cassie asked me, "say that part again?" so I figured I was on the right track.
I have, however, been reduced in the end to pointing out that some people think that we go to Heaven when we die, and some people think that we're born again as new people or animals. We don't really know what happens when we die, since nobody alive has ever been dead before! (This last part even got a little giggle-through-the-tears the last time I used it--must have been the delivery.)
It's so weird, being a parent and having to confront these little controversies and uncertainties and secret personal truths--things that you can very successfully fudge when you're only dealing with adults, because nobody's going to ask. Gender, morality, death. What's the difference between men and women and ladies? Are mosquitoes mean? Why is it not polite to show your underwear when you'r wearing a dress? When is Ennui (the cat) going to die?
Meanwhile, although Cassie is also a a little unhappy about the prospect of my dying, at this point it's also an idea she can approach somewhat philosphically. She tells me, "when you die, I'm going to go and have lots of new adventures."
posted by Rosie Bonner at 2:52 PM
2 Comments:
Yeah, 3 or so seems to be about when it hits them.
There's always the people's-spirits-live-on-in-the-hearts-of-their-friends-and-loved-ones take, though that doesn't console our kid too much.
At least she's not freaked out about your dying. Our girl has occasionally said she wants us all to die at the same time (so, you know, she doesn't have to be alone), which evokes images of a grisly preschool-style suicide pact.
Wow. My boy (just four), in his inimitable country-boy way, has confronted death often in the guise of chipmunk heads courtesy of the cats and deer carcasses courtesy of his deer-hunting (but otherwise gainfully employed as a Philosphy professor) dad. But it's *different*, isn't it, when the children are talking/thinking about their *own* deaths. He talks about himself dying and his brother dying in relation to activities that are dangerous e.g. "If I hit [my baby brother] on the head, will he die?" (Now there's a fun one for you to contemplate, my pregnant friend!!) And he wants to know who will die *first* (again, this seems to often be the baby brother. Coincidence? Methinks not.) Lately, because of Halloween, I think, he is obsessed with cemetaries. And he's been talking a lot about where people are *before* they are alive (in my family we always said the babies were walking around in the sky before they were in their mommies' tummies, and he seems to be satisfied with that). Does Cassie ask about the other end of existence? (Especially given the imminent arrival of baby sib?)
Keep us posted,
aka Marina
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